Nothing But Love
by StygianSea
Summary: Implied ScottxStiles. Takes place after the events of "Motel California" (3x06). "Stiles accepts him for who he is, whether he's unpopular-Scott-who-sucks-at-lacrosse, or Scott the Werewolf and Lacrosse Superstar. Even when no one else cared for him, even when no one else thought him important, Stiles was always there for him."


Scott can't sleep.

He's hunched in his seat, arms wrapped around his legs, back pushed up against the hard metal of the window frame. It's late; he doesn't know how late, hasn't moved in what seems like hours. The others had fallen asleep a long time ago; across the aisle, Allison is leaning against the window, Lydia's head resting on her shoulder. Boyd and Isaac are sprawled across separate ends of the back of the bus. In the seat directly behind him, Stiles snores softly, the soft sound breaking the heavy silence.

Scott doesn't blame them, of course; it's been a trying day for all of them. After picking themselves up off the ground, they had decided to retreat to the bus for the night. No one dared to suggest that they go back inside the motel. They found seats and settled in, none of them speaking for a long time, until Scott broke the silence, apologizing to Allison for his behaviour in her bathroom. She had told him not to worry about it, that she knew it wasn't his fault. They speculated on what could possibly have caused everything, and Lydia mentioned a hooded figure that she had seen in the fire. They had nothing to make of it, and fell back into silence. Boyd and Isaac joined them a while later, and the conversation resumed for a short time, before Allison suggested they all get some sleep.

He had tried to sleep, he really had; but he should have known from the beginning it was a fruitless endeavour. When everyone was talking it was easy for him to stay distracted; but when the bus fell silent and he was left with nothing but the thoughts in his head, he couldn't help but see them flashing in his mind's eye: the claws slashing at his mother's throat; Allison, naked and scared as she clutched at the shower curtain; Stiles stepping into the gasoline, ready to die for him.

_Do you remember the way it was before that? You and me._

Stiles. His best friend, his confidante, his... brother.

Stiles has been there for him every step of the way, never doubting him. Stiles accepts him for who he is, whether he's unpopular-Scott-who-sucks-at-lacrosse, or Scott the Werewolf and Lacrosse Superstar. Even when no one else cared for him, even when no one else thought him important, Stiles was always there for him.

_"Dude, you still got me."_

_"I had you before."_

_"Yeah, and you still got me."_

He can feel the tears burning his eyes, reliving everything for the umpteenth time.

_Maybe I should just be no one again. No one at all._

And he feels like he absolutely hates himself in this moment. He knows now that it wasn't him at the time, even if he really felt like it was, but he can't help hating himself for saying what he had, for attempting what he did. Stiles, ever-present, unconditionally loving Stiles was - _is_ - his everything, and he knows that Stiles feels the same about him, knows he would die if someone tried to take that away from him.

How can he live knowing he had almost taken that very thing away from Stiles?

_You're not no one, okay? You're someone. You're... Scott, you're my best friend. Okay? And I need you. Scott, you're my brother._

The tears are rolling hot and fast now, Scott's body heaving with sobs, overcome with anguish at what had almost happened. He covers his mouth with his hand, trying to mask his sobs so he won't wake anyone else, but some slip out. He can't control it. He'd almost killed himself, and his best friend, his brother, his everything.

"Scott, dude, what's up?"

Scott looks up, startled, to find Stiles peering over the back of his seat, concern etched into his face.

And that is all it takes, that one look full of concern and worry and love, before Scott breaks.

He hears the creak of leather as Stiles gets up and comes into his seat, feels his body moving as Stiles grabs him and pulls him into an embrace.

They stay like that for a long while, Stiles holding Scott and Scott sobbing into his chest, not trying to hold back anymore, and fuck it if it wakes anyone else up, because Scott feels horrible for what he did and there's no holding back that pain.

After a time, after the sobs die down to sniffles and the occasional hiccup, Scott swallows hard and tries to say something.

"Stiles, I -"

"Dude, stop." Stiles cuts him off before the words even leave his lips. "Seriously, quit. I know, and it's okay."

"It is _not_ okay!" Scott breathes. He pushes away from Stiles and sits up, looking at him, incredulous. "Stiles, I... I tried to kill myself. I almost got _you_ killed -"

"Really, Scott? Quit the tears bro, you _know_ that wasn't you, _I_ know that wasn't you, there's nothing for you to be upset about."

Scott (realizing that some unknown influence _making_ him say those things didn't mean the sentiments weren't actually _there_) opens his mouth to protest, but Stiles cuts him off with a finger to his lips.

"Ah ah ah, hush. No problemos here, okay?"

Scott looks away, refusing to acknowledge that it's okay, because it most certainly is not.

"And hey..."

He feels a hand on his chin, and Stiles pulls Scott around to face him.

"Look at me. Stepping into that gasoline? That was my decision, alright? I told you, if you're gonna take yourself out, then fuck it, I'm coming with you. Scott, we've been together for years. It wouldn't feel right, living without you, you know? I need you, Scott. And I hope you need me, too. We're in this together, you know that, right?"

Scott stares into his eyes for a long moment, searching, and finds nothing but acceptance, nothing but assurance.

Nothing but love.

Which makes his lip quiver and the tears well up in his eyes again. Stiles rolls his eyes and gives an exasperated sigh. "C'mere, big guy," he says, reaching out to grab Scott and pulling him against his chest; and Scott, overwhelmed with emotion, sinks into him, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. He still feels shitty, but admittedly less so.

"I love you, man," Scott mumbles into Stiles' shirt, clutching at the fabric like his life depends on it.

"Love you, too, dumbass," Stiles says, patting his back, and Scott somehow manages a smile.


End file.
